A Bright and Guilty Place: Murder, Corruption, and L.A.'s Scandalous Coming of Age by Richard Rayner Page B
Authors: Richard Rayner
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the entourage. He’d been with Ned Doheny in the New York bank in November 1921, when the teller rubber-banded the notes into five $20,000 bundles; he’d traveled with Ned Doheny with the black leather satchel on the train to Washington; he’d fixed drinks for Ned Doheny and Albert Fall while the cash was handed over and the men laughed and talked at the Wardman Park Hotel. He’d played an important walk-on in Teapot Dome; and his role had been about to return to haunt the Dohenys.
Teapot Dome litigations had been dragging on for more than five years at this point. Doheny had lost the Elk Hills lease, and had been forced to make substantial reparation. Both he and Fall were acquitted of conspiring to defraud the government, but they were soon to be tried for bribery. The two cases would be heard separately—first Fall’s, then Doheny’s. Were Fall to be found innocent of taking a bribe, then ipso facto Doheny couldn’t have given one, and he’d be completely off the hook; but if Fall were found guilty, then Doheny would himself stand trial one more time. In Fall’s trial, much would hinge on Hugh Plunkett. For the first time Plunkett was being called upon to testify. The Dohenys had been trying to persuade him to check himself into Camarillo State Mental Hospital and dodge the subpoena.
In the days prior to the killings Plunkett had been, according to differing accounts, only “slightly nervous” or “almost completely unhinged.” His state of mind, anyway, was subject for concern. He’d been taking Veronal and Dial, addictive barbiturates, to help him sleep. He’d bought clothes and serviced his car, perhaps in readiness for the trip to Camarillo. “The one thing that appeared to be constantly on his mind was the upcoming criminal trial,” said Mrs. George Johnson, Lucy Doheny’s personal secretary. For the exhausted Plunkett, the options looked grim: give false testimony at Fall’s trial, perjuring himself; tell the truth, betraying his friends and risking jail; or head off to the insane asylum. He had Doheny interests so much at heart he would lie awake thinking of them. Such was the background.
10
Cover-Up
L eslie White’s job, as forensics investigator, was to put together a picture of the crime strictly from the physical evidence. For more than two hours he took photos and fingerprints and combed the room, making a minute study of every article of furniture and every inch of wall and floor space. When done, he gathered his gear and walked back down the long corridor. In Greystone’s lofty hallway he reported to Lucien Wheeler.
Plunkett, it seemed, had come to Greystone at about 9:30 P.M. the previous night, letting himself in with his own key. By then Ned and Lucy were already in their own bedroom, getting ready to sleep, so Ned put on a dressing gown and told Plunkett they’d talk in the guest apartment. The conversation lasted more than an hour and grew heated. Plunkett—emotional, unwell, apparently almost hysterical—was digging in his heels and refusing to check himself into the sanatorium at Camarillo. Ned Doheny tried to change his mind. Plunkett grew enraged, produced a revolver, and shot his friend. Others heard the noise; they said it was like “furniture banging.” They came to investigate, whereupon Plunkett shot himself. This happened at about 10:55 P.M. It was a case of murder and suicide: Plunkett killed Doheny and then took his own life.
“It was a crazed man instead of the trusted secretary who sent the death-dealing bullet into the young Doheny’s brain as the oil king’s son pleaded with him,” the Times would report.
This version depended almost entirely on the statements of Ernest Clyde Fishbaugh, a doctor who’d been treating the Doheny family for seven or eight years by then. Fishbaugh told how he’d been summoned from his seat at a Hollywood theater with the news that Plunkett was at Greystone and acting crazy. The call had come from Ned Doheny, via
Teapot Dome litigations had been dragging on for more than five years at this point. Doheny had lost the Elk Hills lease, and had been forced to make substantial reparation. Both he and Fall were acquitted of conspiring to defraud the government, but they were soon to be tried for bribery. The two cases would be heard separately—first Fall’s, then Doheny’s. Were Fall to be found innocent of taking a bribe, then ipso facto Doheny couldn’t have given one, and he’d be completely off the hook; but if Fall were found guilty, then Doheny would himself stand trial one more time. In Fall’s trial, much would hinge on Hugh Plunkett. For the first time Plunkett was being called upon to testify. The Dohenys had been trying to persuade him to check himself into Camarillo State Mental Hospital and dodge the subpoena.
In the days prior to the killings Plunkett had been, according to differing accounts, only “slightly nervous” or “almost completely unhinged.” His state of mind, anyway, was subject for concern. He’d been taking Veronal and Dial, addictive barbiturates, to help him sleep. He’d bought clothes and serviced his car, perhaps in readiness for the trip to Camarillo. “The one thing that appeared to be constantly on his mind was the upcoming criminal trial,” said Mrs. George Johnson, Lucy Doheny’s personal secretary. For the exhausted Plunkett, the options looked grim: give false testimony at Fall’s trial, perjuring himself; tell the truth, betraying his friends and risking jail; or head off to the insane asylum. He had Doheny interests so much at heart he would lie awake thinking of them. Such was the background.
10
Cover-Up
L eslie White’s job, as forensics investigator, was to put together a picture of the crime strictly from the physical evidence. For more than two hours he took photos and fingerprints and combed the room, making a minute study of every article of furniture and every inch of wall and floor space. When done, he gathered his gear and walked back down the long corridor. In Greystone’s lofty hallway he reported to Lucien Wheeler.
Plunkett, it seemed, had come to Greystone at about 9:30 P.M. the previous night, letting himself in with his own key. By then Ned and Lucy were already in their own bedroom, getting ready to sleep, so Ned put on a dressing gown and told Plunkett they’d talk in the guest apartment. The conversation lasted more than an hour and grew heated. Plunkett—emotional, unwell, apparently almost hysterical—was digging in his heels and refusing to check himself into the sanatorium at Camarillo. Ned Doheny tried to change his mind. Plunkett grew enraged, produced a revolver, and shot his friend. Others heard the noise; they said it was like “furniture banging.” They came to investigate, whereupon Plunkett shot himself. This happened at about 10:55 P.M. It was a case of murder and suicide: Plunkett killed Doheny and then took his own life.
“It was a crazed man instead of the trusted secretary who sent the death-dealing bullet into the young Doheny’s brain as the oil king’s son pleaded with him,” the Times would report.
This version depended almost entirely on the statements of Ernest Clyde Fishbaugh, a doctor who’d been treating the Doheny family for seven or eight years by then. Fishbaugh told how he’d been summoned from his seat at a Hollywood theater with the news that Plunkett was at Greystone and acting crazy. The call had come from Ned Doheny, via
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